


Foolish Games

by coldwrapped



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, HP: EWE, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 06:51:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2219718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldwrapped/pseuds/coldwrapped
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione and Minerva have been in a secret relationship for ten years, Minerva living as the Headmistress of Hogwarts, and Hermione living as a traveler and adventurer. Once a year, they meet for a month, and finally, the foolish games they play catch up with them. EWE, Femmeslash, songfic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foolish Games

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. The characters and settings belong to JKR and those who helped bring it all to life (publishing companies and movie studios, etc), while the song on which I’ve based the story belongs to Jewel and her recording company. 
> 
> Smut warning! NSFW!
> 
> This is un-betaed, so any mistakes are my own. See one? Let me know!

=========MM/HG=========

_You took your coat off and stood in the rain,_   
_You were always crazy like that._   
_And I watched from my window,_   
_Always felt I was outside looking in on you._   
_You were always the mysterious one with_   
_Dark eyes and careless hair,_   
_You were fashionably sensitive_   
_But too cool to care._   
_You stood in my doorway, with nothing to say_   
_Besides some comment on the weather._

=========MM/HG=========

She awoke to the sound of rain pelting at the windows, again alone in her bed, the dent beside her cold. She sat up, smoothing her long black hair back out of her face. She stood and wrapped a soft terrycloth robe around her body, tying it loosely at the waist, before padding quietly across the cold wooden floor to the open door. She leaned against the frame, arms crossed in front of her, and she watched the figure in the courtyard.

There was another woman out in the lush grass, standing still as the rain fell, drenching her body, another terrycloth robe draping loosely from her shoulders, untied, and as she watched, the sodden robe was shrugged off, falling to the grass, leaving its former occupant nude and glistening in the rain. Her face was tilted up to the sky, eyes closed, and her normally wild hair fell in a thick wet tangle down her back, the dripping ends reaching the tanned curve of her bum. There were no tan lines on her lithe, muscular body; her full peach-tipped breasts and bum as dark as the rest of her skin, evidence of her lack of self-consciousness.

Dark green eyes watched jealously as the water ran in rivulets over that perfect skin, over the sharpness of her collarbones, past the fleshy breasts, down the toned stomach, through the light covering of hair on her pubic area, and down the long, limber legs that had wrapped themselves tightly around her the night before as they had reacquainted themselves with each other. Ten years they had been meeting like this, in secret, and every meeting was bittersweet. She wanted more, and yet at the same time, she wanted it over, because it was painful like this.

As though feeling the dark gaze wash over her body with the rain, the other woman’s head straightened up and turned, darkly fringed eyelids rising to reveal dark eyes the color of the finest aged Firewhiskey. She bent and picked up her robe, her fingers holding it loosely as it dragged behind her carelessly. Reaching the stone of the porch, she again dropped the robe and waved her hand, silently summoning a thick towel from the bathroom. The two women stood there silently watching each other as the younger of the two dragged the towel over her body, drying herself slowly before raising it to her dripping hair, squeezing the excess water out with her hands and the towel, creating a small puddle on the stone. Shorter strands were already beginning to dry, corkscrewing out from her head randomly.

As the towel and robe were sent to the bathroom with another burst of non-verbal magic, she reached out to the older woman, still standing braced against the door jamb, and traced her fingers over high cheekbones and down around the curve of her jaw, ending with the tip of her chin between thumb and the curve of her forefinger.

“Rainy days. Really only good for one thing, eh?”

The green-eyed woman didn’t respond, and the brown-eyed one again put her hands and fingers to work, sliding down and under the dry robe to tease at small pink nipples, already hardened from the coolness of the rainy day. The fingers made them tighten even more, impossible though it seemed, before scratching their way further down, pulling apart the sides of the robe and going lower to dip into moist folds.

Green eyes closed, and breath sped up, heart pounding from the contact. It took so little for this woman to rouse her desire, and as the fingers continued their ministrations, she began panting, and her hands reached up to tightly grip at bare shoulders, needing the support as she came closer to the edge. She was almost there when hot breath puffed over her ear, whispering two words, “Come, Minerva,” and over she went, a soft cry escaping her throat.

As they went back to bed, she thought, “ _How did I ever think I wanted this to be over?_ ”

=========MM/HG=========

_Well in case you failed to notice,_   
_In case you failed to see,_   
_This is my heart bleeding before you,_   
_This is me down on my knees_

_You were always brilliant in the morning,_   
_Smoking your cigarettes and talking over coffee._   
_Your philosophies on art, Baroque moved you._   
_You loved Mozart and you'd speak of your loved ones_   
_As I clumsily strummed my guitar._

=========MM/HG=========

Two more years passed, and another summer was upon her. She was happy to get away from the school and her duties as Headmistress, but at the same time, her short time at the cottage with her secret paramour were starting to not be enough again. Throughout the school year, she heard from their shared friends about the escapades the woman got up to when she wasn’t with Minerva, and she longed to be out exploring with her, but she was duty-bound to remain at the school and see it through at least a few more years.

She had four more years before the first of Potter’s brood started, and she was thinking about retiring before they came. She’d put in forty-two years as a teacher, and fourteen – eighteen by the time they were set to begin – as Headmistress. She was getting older. Surely it would be enough? Sixty years in the same job had to be more than enough.

She was eighty-seven years old, and her flighty, adventuresome lover was thirty-three. Ninety-one and thirty-seven, if she retired in four years. Sixty years was enough.

=========MM/HG=========

When they finally met at the cottage, Minerva was aching for the other woman’s touch, and she’d barely arrived before her clothes hit the wall, spelled away from her body, and her limber body was thrown to the bed, Minerva on her knees before a word could escape her lips. Legs draped over her shoulders, she dove in, her talented tongue working feverishly, payoff only a moment away, driven on by the sounds her actions brought from the other woman’s throat, thrown back in abandon, her back arched off the bed. With a scream, she came, and Minerva lapped up the evidence of her pleasure with soft, gentle strokes of her tongue.

“Happy to see me, then, are you?”

“Always, dearest. Always.”

The rest of the afternoon and evening were spent reacquainting themselves with each other’s bodies, again finding all the spots guaranteed to cause an explosive reaction. Minerva’s heart broke, bleeding all over the floor, with the discovery of each new scar, but she kissed each one, paying homage to whatever new experience had created it, and Hermione would tell her the story behind it.

The next morning, Minerva woke to again find the spot next to her in the bed empty and cold. More often than not, this was the case whenever her lover was home for a visit. Sleep-filled eyes searched the room, finding Hermione sitting naked in the window, hair pulled back into a low, loose ponytail and knees drawn up in front of her, cheek resting atop them. She had a cigarette between two fingers of her left hand, a mug of coffee held between the rest.

“Finally awake, sleepy-head?”

“Coffee?”

Her free hand gestured toward the kitchen. “It’s on the stove.”

She stood and pulled her robe on. “Refill?”

“I’m good.”

Minerva padded over to the kitchen area of the one-room cabin and poured her own mug of the strong brew before sinking into a plush chair near the front picture-window where Hermione was sitting.

They passed the morning in quiet conversation, Hermione recounting more of her year’s adventures. She told of her visit to the Louvre, and how she’d identified more with this exhibit than that one. She’d been to Rome, and the architecture had caused her to weep in public, which was something she didn’t often do. She saved her tears for when she was alone or with Minerva, not wanting to admit that she was fragile and sensitive enough for them.

She played Mozart records on an ancient gramophone in the corner while she spoke, and she went through half a pack of cigarettes and three pots of coffee in the telling.

When she was finished with her escapades, they sat even longer and talked about those they considered friends and family, both catching up on bits of news they hadn’t heard directly from the sources.

Harry and Luna were expecting again, and the Healer thought it might be twins this time. They already had three, and Luna was swearing to have herself and Harry both fixed after this one, whether or not it was twins. Four was enough, she’d said, and five would be more difficult to deal with, though the children would be loved and adored, of course, no matter how many there were.

Ron and Parvati’s explosive relationship was on the rocks again, and she was threatening to leave him as she did at least twice a year since they’d gotten married five years earlier. They both supposed that one day she would get enough and actually leave, but for now, things would blow over again.

Neville was single again, after having recently broken up with Cormac McLaggen, citing that he just couldn’t handle the man’s insufferable narcissism any longer.

Ginny’s on and off affair with Draco Malfoy was back on, and his wife, Astoria, didn’t seem to care anymore. They idly mused that she could do better than him, but if the situation truly made her happy, they would never say so where anyone else could hear.

These quiet mornings were one of Minerva’s favorite times with Hermione. She didn’t care much for the cigarette smoke, but the quiet intimacy of sitting close to each other – close, but not touching – while they discussed what had happened since they last visited and gossiped about their friends and loved ones. She wished she could have more of it; more time together, doing whatever struck their fancy.

Four more years.

=========MM/HG=========

_You'd teach me of honest things,_   
_Things that were daring, things that were clean._   
_Things that knew what an honest dollar did mean._   
_I hid my soiled hands behind my back._   
_Somewhere along the line, I must've got_   
_Off track with you._

=========MM/HG=========

Another year passed. Hermione was a day late getting to the cottage, and Minerva thought for a moment that she wouldn’t come at all. To pass the time until she either arrived or sent her excuses, she puttered around in the garden, putting in some new cuttings Pomona had sent with her, and moving others around, pulling weeds, and enjoying the feel of the rich soil as her hands did honest work.

“Give up on me already?”

She jumped up and hid her dirty hands, asking what Hermione meant.

“I’ve only ever seen you garden here when you’re anxious, either about when I’m to arrive or when I’m to leave. I know I’m a little late, but did you really think I wouldn’t show?”

“I …”

“It’s okay, Min. I understand.”

“Do you?”

“I do.” She dropped her bottomless rucksack onto the stone porch and strode across the courtyard to where Minerva stood, unable to move under that whiskey-colored gaze. “Let me see, then.” She pulled Minerva’s hands from where the hung at her sides, hidden in the folds of her robes, and inspected them. “You’ve been at it a while then. You really thought I wasn’t coming, didn’t you?”

“No, I … I knew you were coming. I just didn’t know when. I thought I’d get the work out of the way.” In contrast to her words and the tone in which she spoke, something in her eyes appeared broken. She really had thought Hermione wouldn’t show up this time, and she’d be left alone and broken without her. Though she fought it, a single tear tracked its way down her smudged cheek.

“I see.” Dark brown hair, lightened slightly by her time in the sun over the past year, waved carelessly in the warm breeze, the wind pulling at the curls haphazardly, and the sadness Minerva saw in her eyes nearly broke her heart into sharp shards. “Might as well finish up then. I’ll be in the shower.” Her gentle hands dropped Minerva’s, and she turned to head inside, collecting her rucksack on the way.

She stopped in the open doorway and spoke again without turning. “Don’t take too long.”

Minerva hurried through the rest of the gardening, more tears following that first one, and she was sure when she finished that she’d screwed it all up, but it didn’t matter. Her actions had hurt Hermione, and that’s the last thing she ever wanted. Three more years. That’s all she had left. She was already working on getting her replacement up to speed in preparation, and he was getting the replacement Deputy trained as well. Filius would do an excellent job in her place.

She stripped her dirty clothes on the way in to the bathroom, and stepped into the shower with Hermione, pressing herself against the other woman’s back, hands gripping themselves around her waist. “I’m sorry,” she whispered into the water dripping down her back.

“I’m sorry I was late and didn’t send word.”

Minerva sobbed against her back, and Hermione’s hands came down to rest against Minerva’s where they were joined at her waist.

“It’s okay, Min. Really. Truly. It’s okay.” She spun in the woman’s embrace and lifted her face to meet her own, kissing her softly and apologetically, hands framing her jaw and thumbs caressing the dirty cheeks, wiping away the tears. “It’s okay. Please don’t cry. I can’t handle you crying.” Her voice broke at the end, and Minerva’s arms tightened around her. She wrapped her own arms around the older woman’s slight frame, and they stood embracing in the shower for several minutes.

The shower slowly cleaned all the garden soil from both of them, and they finally left the warm wet haven an hour later, skin wrinkled and waterlogged, but clean. Without bothering to dry off, they collapsed into the bed, soaking the bedcovers as their activities forced the water out of their hair and off their bodies. A different wetness was growing where thighs met, and with a murmured spell, a new appendage grew from Hermione’s brown curls and thrust deeply within Minerva’s depths, both women grunting with the pleasure of the movement.

“Always,” Hermione whispered as she pushed again, “so… tight, Minerva.” She thrust again, feeling as she hit bottom and hissing at the pleasure it evoked. “So tight and … wet … and mine.” Her pace picked up. “Mine, Minerva. Mine.”

“Yours, my darling, all yours.” Her leg wrapped around Hermione’s waist, causing both of them to sigh and grunt again as the different angle allowed for a different sensation.

Hermione could feel that burn at the base of her spine, the one that always heralded her imminent release under this spell, and her pace sped up yet again as she whispered, “So close, Min. Close.”

Minerva wasn’t quite at the same place, so she reached between them to pinch and roll her clit between her fingers as Hermione continued to pump, the speed and force behind each movement picking up, and before either one could give warning, they shouted in simultaneous release, Hermione managing another couple slow thrusts before collapsing on top of Minerva and rolling off, cancelling the spell as she did.

Panting breathlessly, Minerva curled herself into Hermione’s side, pressing kisses down her chest and around the curve of her heaving breast.

“Are we okay, Minerva? Truly?”

“We are, darling. We just got a little … off-track there for a minute.”

“Good,” she whispered, and they fell into sleep.

=========MM/HG=========

_Well, excuse me, think I've mistaken you for somebody else,_   
_Somebody who gave a damn,_   
_Somebody more like myself._   
  
_These foolish games are tearing me apart,_   
_And your thoughtless words are breaking my heart._   
_You're breaking my heart._

=========MM/HG=========

Three years passed, and Minerva retired. She packed up all her belongings from the castle, handed the reins over to Filius, and departed through the gates for the last time.

She knew Hermione wouldn’t be arriving for another month, but she went to their cottage anyway, enjoying the solitude for once, having been surrounded by students and teachers and parents almost constantly for the last sixty years. She yearned for Hermione, but the silence was a balm to her aching soul.

When Hermione finally showed up, she was frowning as she walked through the door to find Minerva spread out, sleeping in their bed. She sat on the edge and stroked her fingers down the curve of her spine, the frown giving way to a soft smile as the muscles in her back shivered with the contact.

Minerva began stirring, and she asked sleepily, “Hermione?”

“You were expecting Filius, maybe?”

A soft smile spread across her relaxed face. “No, he would have been mortified to find me sleeping naked, and too afraid to try and wake me.”

“Is it true, Min? You retired?”

“Aye, dearheart. It was time. As much as I’ve enjoyed the stories of your adventures, one month of each year was no longer enough for me. I wanted more. I want to experience your life with you. I’m tired of hiding our relationship.”

The fingers that had been tracing themselves up and down her back stopped their movement, curling themselves into a fist. “Why didn’t you say something before?”

“Why did you stop?” She arched her back upward, seeking out the gentle touch.

“You,” Hermione paused to clear her throat, “you should have said something before, Minerva.”

“I wanted to surprise you, darling. What’s wrong?” Now fully awake, she sat up and turned to face Hermione, who was stiffly sitting on the edge of the bed, not moving.

“What if that’s not what I wanted?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“What?” Minerva could feel her heart shattering in her chest.

Sad brown eyes rose to meet shocked green ones. “What if that isn’t what I want, Minerva? You made all these plans for you and for me, and you didn’t think to ask if it was okay? If it was what I wanted as well?”

“I just assumed…”

“Exactly. You _assumed_. What we have is special, Minerva, and it always has been, but it was – it _is_ not meant to be public. There’s been enough speculation on my life ever since I made friends with the fucking Boy Who Lived back in my first year of school, when I was still just trying to gain my feet in an entirely new world, and I don’t want to feed the gossip columns any more. I thought you understood that. I thought,” she let out a short, bitter breath that could have been a laugh except that there was nothing funny about the situation or her words, “Gods, I _assumed_ you knew that.”

“But, I…”

“I’m sorry, Min.” She stood quickly, her balled fist falling to her side and tightening, nails threatening to leave bloody marks where they pressed into her palm. “I’d be glad to continue the way we have been for the last,” her eyes closed tightly, a tear falling slowly from each one, “sixteen years, but I can’t offer you any more than that.”

Both women were crying silent tears, and then Minerva found her voice. “Leave then. Leave and don’t come back.”

“Is that really what you want?”

“Of _course_ it’s not what I bloody want, Hermione, but after sixteen years of meeting in secret, I want to be able to take you out for a meal or a coffee that we haven’t cooked or brewed ourselves. I want to travel to fantastic and exotic places with you, and kiss you and love you in every one of them. I want to be able to tell Filius and Harry and Poppy that you’re the one I love. I want to shout it from every rooftop in the _country_! From every rooftop in _every_ country! I want to visit the museums with you and discuss the art. I want to be with you to dry your tears when the beauty of the world becomes too much, and the curve of the arches in the architecture moves you. I want to write to our friends and tell them about all of _our_ adventures, and tell the tales _with_ you when we come back home for a visit. I want to give you _all_ of myself and receive all of you in return. That’s all I’ve _ever_ wanted. After sixty years at Hogwarts, I’m ready to see the world, and I want to see it with you, because I love you, and I want to be with you all the time instead of for just one month in secret.”

“Love isn’t real, Minerva, and you’re a fool if you think it is.”

“Love is real, Hermione, and I know it’s true because I feel it every time I think about you, but if I’ve mistaken you for a different person for all these years, if that’s truly how you feel, then do as I asked and leave.”

“I don’t want to leave.”

“Then stay. Stay for now, and when you leave, I’ll go with you.” Minerva rose to her knees and wrapped her arms around the shaking form of the woman she loved with every fiber of her being.

“I can’t. You can’t. We … can’t,” Hermione choked out.

Pulling back as though she’d been struck, Minerva sat back on her heels. “So you’ve played me for a fool all these years. I thought you gave a damn about me – me, and not just my body and what it could give you – but I guess I was wrong. I’ve thought for twenty-five years that you were like me, ever since you sat on the stool and the hat took so long to decide between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, as it had done once with myself. So intelligent. So driven. So courageous. So loyal. I thought you were the ultimate representative of Hogwarts and her houses, and I was wrong. You aren’t courageous at all, and I’m ashamed that you were in my house. Coward.”

“I’m not a coward.” Lightning flashed in her eyes as they opened and stared down at Minerva.

“You are. You can’t stand a little press coverage, a few pictures and words from time to time, just to be with me. You’ve played me for a fool with your games, Hermione. Congratulations, you’ve finally done it. You’ve broken my heart with your cowardice and your unthinking words. Leave. Now, please.”

“Minerva, I…”

“No, Hermione. I would rather be alone than continue to be a fool for you.” She collapsed into the bed, hiding her face behind her hair and a pillow, not wanting Hermione to see how thick and uncontrollable her tears became.

“Good-bye, then.”

She listened as Hermione slowly walked across the wooden floor, picked up her rucksack where she’d dropped it by the door, and left, closing the door behind her.

Minerva didn’t know she could cry any harder, but at the quiet snap of the door latching, a torrent was unleashed, and she sobbed with increasing intensity until finally she passed out, having cried herself to sleep.

=========MM/HG=========

_You took your coat off_   
_Stood in the rain_   
_You were always crazy like that_

=========MM/HG=========

Another year passed, and Minerva lived in the cottage alone, rarely coming out for anything. She read the letters everyone sent, but couldn’t drag up enough energy to write back.

She read about the oldest Potter boy being sorted into Slytherin, and the uproar that had caused.

She read about Parvati Weasley finally having enough and leaving Ron for good, taking their two children with her.

She read about how Draco Malfoy finally threw his wife out and married Ginny Weasley.

She read about Neville Longbottom, the new Herbology Professor, marrying the love of his life, Ernie MacMillan, in a lavish ceremony in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. She was invited, but didn’t attend.

She read that Hannah Abbott bought out the Leaky Cauldron and was shacking up with Astoria Malfoy, née Greengrass in one of the rooms above the pub and inn.

And finally, she read the news that Hermione had continued on as though nothing had happened between them, travelling and exploring as before, without her.

Her shattered heart slowly began to heal itself in her hermitage, and the garden outside in the courtyard flourished more than it had ever done before with her increased attention. She’d never really been a deft hand at Herbology before, but without much else to take up her time, she got better.

From time to time, she would wind up the gramophone and listen to Hermione’s old Mozart recordings, and tears would stream silently down her cheeks at the memories the music evoked.

One afternoon, when she was finally beginning to find some peace with her new existence, there was a quiet pop in the courtyard.

Not daring to hope, she stepped into the doorway and leaned against it, arms crossed in front of her. Whiskey-colored eyes took in the profusion of greenery and plant life and then moved to the woman in the doorway.

Slowly, she made her way over to the older woman and fell to her knees before her, sobbing into her skirt with arms wrapped tightly around her waist. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please… please take me back, Min.”

“Why?” She croaked out the word, voice rusty with disuse.

“I was wrong. Love is real. I can’t live without you. I don’t care what the papers print. I don’t care what anyone thinks. You said you want to shout our love across the rooftops, I’ll shout it with you. Everywhere I’ve gone in the last year has felt wrong because you should have been there with me, and I knew it before I left, but I was stupid and stubborn and a coward, just as you called me. I was scared to be truly happy, and I was scared to tell anyone, and I was scared to lose any of my friends over you, but I’d lose them all, Min, if I could have you back. You’re worth everything.”

“How can I trust you? You ruined me, Hermione. Absolutely ruined me. You played your foolish games with me for sixteen years, and the moment happiness was offered to you, you ran, and you _ruined_ me. How can I ever trust you with my heart again?”

Hermione looked up at her stern visage, seeing the tears beginning to fall.

“You shouldn’t. All the things you said I did, I did do. But I fooled myself, too. I told myself love wasn’t real, and that if love wasn’t real, then you couldn’t feel it for me, and I couldn’t feel it for you, and if neither of us felt this imaginary feeling, then we could never be hurt by each other. But I hurt you, and I hurt myself, and I was lying. Love is real. And I _know_ it’s real because I feel it every time I think about you. I miss you and I love you, and I’ll die if you send me away again. Please. _Please_. Gods, I love you.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as she buried her head back into Minerva’s skirt. “I love you.”

For long moments, there was no response, and when Hermione was about to give up, she felt a shaking hand rest itself on top of her head. “Oh, Hermione,” Minerva sighed.

A flicker of hope began building in the pit of her stomach, and she again turned her face up to look at Minerva.

“I want so badly to tell you to leave, because it’s no more than you deserve, dearheart, for the pain you’ve caused me, but I can’t. You come with naught but pretty words, and I want to turn you down so that you feel what I’ve felt this last year, but I can’t. Your hands are gripping too tightly to the strings of my heart, and I simply can’t find it within me to say no. I love you too much.”

Hermione jumped to her feet and kissed Minerva, the built-up passion of the last year taking over and making its presence known. They both poured all that passion into the kiss, moving furiously toward the bed, clothes falling all along the path so that when they did reach the bed, they were both gloriously naked.

Hermione’s fingers dove straight into Minerva’s dripping sex, and a choked gurgle left her throat in response as her head flew back, her back arching up off the bed sharply at the sensation. As her middle two fingers pumped themselves in and out of Minerva’s tight channel, the thumb was pressing against her clit, working around and over it in circles. Minerva’s head thrashed from side to side, eyes shut tight against the waves of pleasure that were building, hands fisted in the covers. She was so close, and when Hermione’s mouth closed around one pink nipple and bit down lightly, her eyes and mouth slammed open, a loud scream echoing through the room as she came hard.

It took her a couple minutes to regain her senses, but when she did, she grabbed Hermione’s shoulders and flipped them so that she was hovering over Hermione’s prone body, long strands of black hair brushing enticingly over her breasts.

She lowered her head and kissed Hermione again, pouring all her love into the motion of her lips and tongue, enjoying the breathy sounds her lips wrought as they left and trailed down Hermione’s neck and chest. She paid loving attention to her breasts for several minutes before moving lower. “Mine,” she growled as she reached her target, using her mouth and fingers together to bring Hermione to a towering peak and making her crash over it, mouth and tongue laving over her clit while her fingers were buried deep within, feeling the hard contractions as Hermione fell, screaming her name over and over.

As the day passed into night, and the night passed into morning, they continued to pleasure each other in a marathon of physical loving, taking brief naps here and there before picking things right back up where they left off, making up for so much lost time.

=========MM/HG=========

Months later, in a hotel room in Marrakech, the scent of oranges and pomegranates and figs on the air on a rainy day in May – rare for the area, the women sat snuggled by a window, overlooking the exceedingly private patio outside their room, watching the warm raindrops fall.

Without words, Hermione stood and shed the light jacket she’d been wearing before stripping the rest of her clothes away. She cast a few extra privacy charms to ensure nobody could see, even if they were looking, and with a gleam in her eye, stepped out into the rain, letting the water rejuvenate her spirit. After a moment, she felt another slippery body slide against her back and her lips turned up in a smile that Minerva frequently saw when she surprised her long-time lover.

They stood there, in the warm rain, and whispered soft words of love to each other. When the rain finally stopped, they slipped back into the hotel room, where soft cries of pleasure were soon heard coming from the large shower.

=========MM/HG=========

A bit shorter than my normal offerings, yes, but I feel like it’s complete just as it is, without any extra words. I hope you guys enjoy it. *bows*


End file.
